


The Courage of Stars

by Elamae



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Angst, Hospitals, Hurt, M/M, Medical Procedures, Tom Blake Lives, Vomiting, fixit, post film fixit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elamae/pseuds/Elamae
Summary: This picks up immediately after the end of the film.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 151





	The Courage of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was written due to my inability to accept that Tom died. I loved this film and, like with Tommy and Gibson in Dunkirk, this is a tragic pairing which grabbed my heart and twisted until I had to do something. So I wrote a fixit where, like Gibson, Tom survives. 
> 
> It's much longer than I envisioned and I'm not entirely happy with it (although which author is) including medical stuff. Please excuse any inaccuracies I took with medical practises. I did research but then story took over and bam. Plus I've only seen the film once so if I've got any names, places, descriptions etc wrong do let me know. 
> 
> Around 80 odd fics have been written in this fandom since I started writing! It's an amazing, small though growing fandom and bless every single person who has written and posted. Thank you. This is my small contribution.
> 
> Title comes from Saturn by Sleeping at Last (mostly because that's been the most repeated song on my playlist rather than any real connection. Seriously, normally I have a working title after a few hundred words if that. This one I was scrabbling about until about ten seconds before I posted).

Lent up against the tree, Will allowed his body to relax for the first time in what felt like days. In reality it had only been twenty four hours or so, but his mind, his body, his spirit were all telling him that an entire lifetime had passed since he had been sat in almost the same position the day before; his back against a tree, listening to the quiet of a field, feeling the gentle breeze upon his face. 

Only this time, he was alone.

His throat caught. Closing his eyes against the first sting of tears, he allowed himself the luxury of letting the emotion he had been forcing back down for the last twelve hours to etch itself onto his face. 

Blake. 

He raised his head again, gaze returning to the photos of his sister and nieces, thumb rubbing over the surface briefly before he opened his tin and placed them both back inside. Eleanor wouldn’t be getting a letter this time, was the thought that crossed his mind unbidden. 

Not this time. 

It was Blake’s family who would be receiving that dreaded correspondence. Blake’s family, whose images were nestled inside his jacket, against his chest where Will had slid them. He swallowed, bile threatening to rise in the back of his throat. He wanted to cry, he already had, when he managed to pull himself out of the river early that morning. The shock of the water, the bodies, the escape from what he had been certain would be his death, it had all come to a breaking point and he’d cried, sobs shaking his body as he clutched the bare, muddy earth beneath his hands. 

Tears were welling up in his eyes again now, in his throat, but this time it wasn’t shock, it wasn’t the emotional ledge he’d been tipping over but the contained, strapped down grief that hadn’t yet had the opportunity to be set free. Sat by a tree near the front, less than a hundred yards from the medical tents was not the best place to set that grief free but Will couldn’t hold onto it for any longer, couldn’t push down the pain any longer. 

His tears were quiet but strong, wetness flooding his cheeks as the dam broke and flowed.

Joe Blake stood and watched. Far enough away to be respectful but near enough to hear the soft crying. He’d positioned himself so that he could protect the solitude the other man so obviously needed but also so that he himself could spend a few moments absorbing what Corporal Schofield had told him. 

Tom. Poor baby Tom. His little brother. He’d worried endlessly about Tom being caught up in the war. He himself had been old enough to have been there since almost the start of this god-awful debacle but Tom, he’d hoped against hope that it would be over by the time Tom was old enough to be called up. But it wasn’t to be. The war which should have been over in less than six months was now in its third year and Tom, eager to prove he could do his part for his country had been in training six months after his eighteenth birthday. 

He closed his eyes in grief. Felt the sharp stab of pain in his chest as Tom’s laughing face danced across the inside of his eyelids, thick brown hair waving in the breeze as Joe chased him across the orchard, peels of merriment echoing between the trees. 

Biting his lip, he used the pain to push down the torrent of emotion that was threatening to break. It was of no use now, he had men to look after, to make sure they received the care necessary. Those that needed to be send back to the hospital and those that would be patched up for the next engagement. 

Corporal Schofield himself needed to be sent to see the Doctor, from what he had seen of his head and hand. Both were showing old long-standing bleeding wounds and would need to be cleaned if infection were to be prevented. If it hadn’t already set in. Explosions were not the only way men lost limbs on the front. Even the smallest wound had the potential to kill if not treated properly. 

When Scholfield’s head dropped down to his chest and stayed, he gave it a few more long minutes before slowly walking over. The boy would fall asleep against the tree and although he obviously needed the rest, he needed medical care as well. He could get both at the same time. 

Will heard the soft footsteps approaching but instinctively knew who it was. Someone who meant no harm. 

“Schofield?” The voice was soft; familiar. It made him want to start crying all over again. He swallowed again, lump sticking in his throat. 

“Sir?”

“Time to get over to the medical tent, Corporal. You need to get that head and hand sorted out before infection sets in.” There was a pause. “My mother’s address.”

Will opened his eyes to the paper being held out to him.

“I think she would greatly appreciate hearing from someone who was obviously a dear friend.”

The tear that welled in his eye and ran down his cheek could not have been prevented and he raised red eyes to Tom’s brother, feeling shame and guilt coursing through him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out before he could stop himself. “I….”

Joe Blake had dropped to his knees and was reaching forward before he knew that was what he had meant to do. He grasped the younger man by his shoulders, hands gripping firmly. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. My brother didn’t suffer fools and if he chose you for his friend, which you obviously are, then I know you will have done everything you can for him. Tom attracted the best of the best to him, like a magnet for goodness.” He smiled gently. “He had a heart that was twice the size it should be…” his own voice cracked then and he took a breath, sitting back and letting go. “Let her know he didn’t die in vain and that he was a brave lad up to the end.” 

Will was nodding. “He was,” he said softly. “He was.” He looked up and met the older man’s gaze. “When we were given the mission, as soon as he knew it was your regiment that was in danger, I could barely keep up with him. I wanted to wait, wait until it was dark so we had cover,” he confessed, eyes closing against the shame he now felt, “but Tom, he knew we couldn’t.” 

Joe smiled, eyes shiny. “See? Heart twice the size it should be.”

Will reached up and quickly rubbed the wetness from his face with his good hand. 

“Get that hand sorted out,” Joe said, nodding towards the limb in question, “and then we’ll get you back to your regiment. I don’t know what our orders will be now, but you can go back with the wounded. They’ll be heading out first light.”

Will reached out took the piece of paper with the address on it. He met Blake’s eyes and nodded once. 

The lorry transporting the wounded was not much better than the one he’d caught the day before. Cramped, loud and shaky. He was sat at the back behind the driver’s cabin, squashed into the corner. The smell of blood and infection clogged his nostrils. He tried not to breath too deeply, but it was ingrained in the atmosphere and made its way into his lungs no matter how shallow he breathed. 

He absently picked at the bandage on his hand, wincing when it pulled the gash underneath. It had been painful; the wound needing flushing and debridement to clean out the dirt that had become ingrained inside. There’d been mutterings of infection, unsurprisingly given what it had been through, but he’d been given instructions to go to the hospital when they arrived where it would be once again cleaned and then monitored to make sure nothing had set in. The wound on his head had been simpler. They’d cleaned and bandaged it before directing him to a quiet corner of the tent to rest for the night. 

He’d felt weary on waking that morning. Granted, it had not been the most restful night of sleep he’d ever had, propped up against the tent pole, surrounded by the soft moans and sounds of men in pain but after the proceeding two days he probably could have slept pretty much anywhere. But his head was hurting and his hand was throbbing and he just wanted to stop. 

He leant his head against the side of the lorry, feeling the scratchy material rubbing the skin on his temple. Within moments he was asleep again. 

Arriving at the hospital he followed the directions given to him by the nurse until he found himself in a small ward at the rear of the second floor. The hospital itself had been based in an old chateau which had obviously seen better days. Taken over for the purpose it now served, it was showing its own wounds in the chipped plaster and broken windows.

Stepping into the small room he moved over to the small cot he was directed to, tentatively sinking onto the side of the small bed. He glanced around at the other men, overcome by an intense feeling of guilt. He shouldn’t be here. Amongst these men who were missing limbs, who were blind, deaf, who were clutching onto death’s door and fighting for the right to survive. He felt like a fraud, felt as though someone would suddenly see him for the imposter he was. Ask him why he was there and give him orders to return to his company. 

And he would go. He felt an undeniable need to get back to his men, to throw himself back into the fight. He shouldn’t be here, didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be here whilst others were fighting, dying…

He squeezed his eyes closed against the sharp sudden pain lancing up through his chest. 

Blake.

“No, no, no, get up,” a sharp voice broke through his painful thoughts and he opened his eyes again to catch a nurse headed towards him, a foreboding expression on her stern face. “Those are clean sheets. You need to get out of that stinking uniform and into fresh clothes or we’ll be needing to change the bed linen and I’m not wasting fresh laundry.” She glared at him. “Up.”

Blinking, Will pushed himself back to his feet, only wobbling slightly and stepped away from the bed.

“Come now,” she said, reaching out to the small pot cupboard next to it and pulling out some bed clothes. “Get yourself changed into these and we’ll get you settled so you can rest.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Yes, of course.” He reached to take them and then paused when his hands came into focus. Although they had been given a clean at the clearing tent, dirt was still imbedded into his skin, his nails almost black from what was underneath and his left hand, although covered in what had been a fresh bandage the night before was now covered in the dust and debris from the long journey from the front. “I…” he hesitated.

She let out a small breath and clicked her tongue. “Wait there. There’s some hot water making its way up but we’ll need to wait a bit for it to get to this ward. There’s others that are more desperate.”

He nodded, almost before she’d finished speaking. “Yes, I…I don’t want to take up room that could be used for someone else…” he started. “I’m fine and with a little rest I’ll be ready to return to my regiment….”

She clicked her tongue again and busied herself with the man on the next bed who was already in his bed clothes and settling under the sheets. “None of that. The Doctor’s at the clearing tent will have made the decision to sent you here and that’s where you’re meant to be.” She glanced over from where she was smoothing the covers down over his neighbour and nodded at his hand. “That looks pretty sore,” she said and his gaze dropped down to the bandage noticing that blood has started to weep through again. He must have banged it on the lorry and not noticed he thought absently

“Yes,” he started, “but…”

“No buts,” she continued. “You’ll do what you’re told and behave.” There was a small twitch to her lips but before Will could be sure he’d seen it, she’d turned away again and was looking towards the doorway where a young boy had appeared, struggling with a large bucket. “Ah ha,” she said with a triumphant tone to her voice. “Over here, Paul,” she raised her voice and the lad changed direction, wobbling over to the table in the centre of the room where she was pointing. 

A few minutes later and she had returned, a bowl of steaming hot water in her hands. Placing it on the pot cupboard, she directed him to undress and moved away to give him privacy. Once he discarded all his original clothing, he stepped into the bed trousers and pulled on the shirt as best he could. The nurse came and motioned for him to sit on the bed. With careful hands she undid the bandage and looked closely at the wound on his palm. He glanced down and then looked away quickly, the sight making him slightly queasy.

She made a noise he couldn’t interpret, but which he didn’t think sounded very good and then started to clean both his hands, leaving the injured palm for last. Will couldn’t deny that the feeling of being clean was an improvement. There weren’t many opportunities for cleanliness at the front, the trenches seeming to be one long mud bath at times. After a while you stopped noticing it. If you managed to have a wash, within hours the dirt had returned and you never, never managed to remove the stench from your nostrils however hard you tried. Mud, sweat and cordite. He found himself closing his eyes again, relaxing into the firm yet gentle touch and when she eventually pulled back, he almost lost his balance from the loss of contact. 

“There you go,” she said, her voice softer than before. “Let me redress this and then you can get yourself in bed.” She grabbed the bandages from the side table and with deft and practised hands had covered his hand in a new dressing. She stood and took the now dirty water to the table. 

“When there is enough water for a bath I’ll come and get you.” She pulled a face. “You’ve got entire layers of dirt built up.”

Will snorted and was amused to see a grin twitch the corners of her mouth.

“Rest up.”

Will got slowly to his feet and after a moment to steady himself, pushed himself under the blankets. 

Within moments he was fast asleep. 

“Will?” Will turned his head, feeling the sharp scrape of bark against the back of his head. He looked up to see a figure standing over him, a hand stretched out. He gazed up blinking against the sudden brightness, his eyes complaining after being shut for so long. 

“We off?” he muttered. 

“We are,” came the familiar voice. 

He grunted and placed one hand on the ground next to him, the other he reached out in front, feeling the warm skin and firm grip take his. 

Once upright, he took a few moments to make sure everything was still attached to his person; bags and buckles and straps all where they should be. One hand reached up unconsciously to tap against the pocket in the front of his jacket, feeling the reassuring metal just underneath the material. 

With a glance and nod at his companion, he turned and headed back to the gathering of men fifty yards away, all doing a version of what he and Blake had just done. The shouts from the vehicles up at the front of the regiment turned into orders as they were passed down the sections and within minutes they were on the move. 

Will fell into silent step with Blake, feeling the familiar marching rhythm take hold. Their feet moved in sync; the sway of their arms almost identical after a moment. It wasn’t the same for all of the line. Though marching in line was the ideal method of moving the troop, it wasn’t always the easiest when you were dragging supplies and equipment. Songs were used to keep the men in time, just like they had been for hundreds of years previously, but it still came hard to some of the men. With he and Blake though, from the minute they found themselves walking together that first time, they had found themselves in tune with each other. 

As expected, within about three minutes Blake had launched into a story. Will pretended to be indifferent to the point of irritated most of the time but the reality was he enjoyed the stories Blake came out with. Enjoyed losing himself in both the story itself but also in the way Blake told them, in his voice. It was a most welcome distraction and he often found himself smiling without realising. 

Blake was halfway through some recanting of something someone had done two days previous that involved a bucket, a ladder and two saddlebags. Will found his eyebrows shooting up and then into a frown, half suspecting that parts if not the whole of this story was being embellished for dramatic purposes. Then with only the slightest pause, the story changed and suddenly they were back home on his mother’s farm, a ridiculous yet related tale to the original one involving the bucket but this time it involved Blake, his brother, a school friend and a goat…?

In his sleep, Will’s mouth twitched into a small smile, his face smoothing out and relaxing.

The scene changed and they were walking through an orchard of trees but something was wrong. The blossom was gorgeous and bright, the smell still lingering in the air but the trees were wrong. They were too short, stumps where there should be limbs and branches strewn across the floor. 

Horror had visited here. 

Horror was still here. 

They were still moving forward, Blake was speaking and Will couldn’t stop moving and he wanted to stop moving, they needed to stop moving forward. Death was waiting ahead in that farm. That barn….

He needed to stop moving…

Time skipped forward again and he was tasting the milk…then again and he could hear the engine of an aeroplane and then….no…no…

…he was reaching for his rifle…but he was too slow…too slow… and Blake was falling…clutching his stomach and…oh god…no…

The warm sticky feeling of blood was on his hands and he couldn’t wipe it off, couldn’t get rid of the sensation or the smell or the…and it was Blake’s blood…Blake’s…

He gasped and shot up in bed, jerking upright with such speed that someone nearby dropped a bedpan, the metal clanging as it hit the bare wooden floor. He stared wide eyed around him, feeling the terror still coursing through his system, his heart beating so fast and loud he thought it must be audible to everyone in the room. 

He sucked in a lungful of air suddenly feeling like he would suffocate only to start choking, saliva catching the back of his throat and heading down the wrong pipe. Deep racking coughs shuddered throughout his whole body and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t breathe…

“Okay, lean forward, there, that’s it, just breath slowly. I know, I know, it’s hard.” 

Will could feel a hand gently rubbing his back, another on his shoulder. Could hear the gentle words slowly bringing him back down from his panic. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced his lungs to cooperate. 

“There you are,” the gentle voice continued. “That’s better. Took some spittle back the wrong way didn’t you.”

The bed shifted and then the cool rim of a glass was being pressed against his mouth. 

“Small sips.”

The cool liquid was like nectar and he had to force himself not to gulp, not to just grab the glass and tip the whole amount down his throat. But even that small amount he was taking in was starting to make his stomach hurt and he stopped, pushing the glass away gently. 

The nurse took it and leaning over placed it back on the side table. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, remembering the clattering sound of something being dropped. 

“No harm done,” she said, “bed pans are hardy things. Although I’m relieved it was an empty one,” she added with a grateful tilt to her lips. 

He let out a small huff of air, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage and closed his eyes again. 

“Can you try to sleep again?” she asked. “You’ve barely had more than a couple of hours and the surgeon is going to want to look at that hand later.”

“Again?”

She nodded. “I know it doesn’t look like much but if they don’t get all the dirt and badness out, it could still turn nasty.”

He pulled a face and then paused, attention suddenly going inward as alarm bells starting to ring. Something must have shown on his face because suddenly she was moving and with the speed only born of months of practise, she had a bedpan under his face just in time to catch the vomit. 

“There now, better out than in,” she crooned softly again. “Nothing to worry about.” She laid one warm hand on the back of his neck as he wretched uncontrollably, painfully. He’d not had much to eat in the past twenty-four hours and most of what he was able to bring up was bile. Gagging at the vile taste, he felt on show. Felt that wave of guilt again at being such a nuisance. 

When at last his body had stopped trying to turn itself inside out, he pulled back and with a shaky hand wiped his mouth. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, turning his head away.

“Nothing to be ashamed about my dear,” she said softly. “It’s what we’re here for.” 

She magicked the pan out of sight and helped him take another sip of water, watching closely to see if the same reaction would happen. When it didn’t, she waited whilst he took a second and then third sip and then when he was finished, helped him lay back down. 

“Try to get some sleep,” she said and seeing the fear in his eyes, quickly added, “I know.” She tucked the blanket tightly around his shoulders, leaving one hand on his chest for a moment. “We won’t be far away.”

She drew back and retreated to the nurses’ station on the other side of the room where she exchanged a soft look with another nurse who was folding bandages. 

“They get younger and younger,” she murmured to the other women who nodded sadly, both of them watching Will as he lay back in his cot, eyes closing, fear still rigid on his face. 

“Is he from the eight?” the other nurse asked after a moment, gesturing towards Will and looking at his uniform folded under his bed 

She nodded. “He is.”

“There’s another man from that regiment here,” the other nurse said, a thoughtful look on her face. “Came in last night. Were they in the same battle?”

“I don’t think so,” Will’s nurse said with a small frown. “Lance Corporal Schofield came in from the north this morning. But I believe he was the only one from his regiment, the rest of the men who arrived today were from the seconds.”

“Oh,” she said and turned away, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

“How is he?” Will’s nurse asked after a moment’s quiet folding. 

The other nurse turned back. “Stable, now. Lost a lot of blood so Wilmott is keeping him down on yellow ward.”

“Strange they’re both from the same unit but came in from different places.”

The other nurse made an agreeing humming noise. 

Ruth was on her rounds later that night still thinking about what Gladys had told her earlier about the second man from the eight. It had been playing on her mind for reasons she couldn’t say. She’d stopped down on yellow ward during her break, a ward where some of the more serious cases were put. Those who were most at danger of infection or who had suffered loss of a limb. She’d not been allowed access but she’d spoken to one of the other nurses who confirmed what Gladys had said about the man being from the same regiment as the soldier in her ward upstairs, though she’d not known much else to pass on. Still curious, Ruth had headed back upstirs to be ready for evening rounds.

He’d managed to get some sleep, she’d noted with some relief, but she’d also catalogued a startling rise in his temperature which concerned her. The Doctor had managed to debride the wound in his palm again and had made noises that she wasn’t all that happy with. She’d spent a lot of time around Doctors and was quite adapt in both their unspoken as well as spoken language. She’d been tasked with regular bandage changes and solution washes but she was worried that infection had already set in. She seen the dirt and grime that had been washed from his hands, seen the look of the wound and of the other injuries, most notable the back of his head. The lad had been though a lot, that was clear. All of them who came through the hospital, through her ward, had been through hell but something told her that there was a story to tell from this one. 

She laid the back of her hand on his forehead, pulling a face at the heat she felt there. Getting the thermometer out she made a reading and then noted it on his chart, sighing at the elevation it showed. 

She looked down at him, noting the sheen of sweat beading on his forehead and temple. Running a hand over his hair, he shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, restless, agitated murmurs leaving his lips. 

“Shush,” she comforted softly. 

Will was dreaming again. Some part of him knew it was a dream. The fluid quality, the soft, somewhat repetitive feeling, but he didn’t care. It was nice. The sun was out and it hardly ever shone here anymore, not that they could enjoy anyway. The clouds were moving across the sky, care free, leaves jostling happily in the breeze. 

The arm next to his was warm, solid, alive. 

His eyes were closed. Part of him wanted to open them, to turn and drink in the sight that was next to him, but the other part of him didn’t want to break the illusion. He could stay here forever. The warmth of the sun was beating down on his skin, warming him from the inside.

He wanted to see that orchard in Essex. Wanted to see the blossom, the cherries, see the fruits of the labours of Tom and his brother and mother. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell the sweetness of the blossom in the air. Tilting his head back against the tree behind him he allowed his body to relax for the first time in what felt like months.

Tom was here. Everything was okay.

“I’ve been monitoring his temperature for the last three hours and it’s now 104,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb the other men in the ward. She watched as the doctor looked at her chart and then glanced over to where Will was sleeping restlessly, face shiny and flushed with fever.

“Yes,” Doctor Sanderson said, rubbing one finger across his chin. “Thank you, Nurse Milford.” He let out a quiet sigh. “I was hoping we had got to the wound before the infection had set in, but it seems the wound was older and or deeper than we thought.” 

Ruth looked up at the Doctor, reading the sorrow in his face. Sanderson was a good man, like a lot of Doctors who had come to the front he was idealist, hardworking and dedicated. Unlike some of the others though, he hadn’t lost the optimism that he’d started with, easy to do so when faced with the horrors that came through their doors on a daily basis. Her soldier couldn’t be in any better hands she thought. 

“From what I cleaned from his clothes when he came in, I’m not sure he hadn’t dragged it through every dirt heap between here and the front,” she said with a scowl. 

Sanderson let out a short humourless laugh. “From what these lads are put through I’m not sure that isn’t too far from the truth.” He rubbed his hand across his chin. “All we can do is try to ease his fever and ensure regular irrigation of the wound. We’ll set up a solution and monitor. Can you retrieve a sterilization set for me please?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Ruth hurried off to check out the required set from the supplies, giving the ward and Doctor to the administration for records. When she got back the Doctor had already employed one of the other nurses to help remove Schofield’s bandages and move the table out of the way to make way for the stand necessary for the solution to be hung from. 

“Thank you,” he murmured as he took hold of the tubing and proceeded to put the different parts together. 

Once it was set up, he paused to ensure everything was in place the way he wanted and then turned to give Ruth the instructions she expected. She knew what to do but she listened intently and nodded to all the directions given. 

Schofield had barely woken throughout the whole process, except when the diffuser had been fitted to his hand. The subdued cry of pain told her that although he hadn’t really known what was happening the instinct to be quiet and not bring attention to himself had kicked in. She’d seen it in other men, those who’d been on the front for long enough. 

After a moment to ensure that he was settled, Ruth carried on with the rest of her rounds, checking in with the other nine men under hers and Gladys’s care. 

Will was hot. The sun was still beating down but now but it turned from a comforting presence to stifling. He could feel the sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbone, trickling down the side of his neck, tickling his skin. He tried to take a breath but something was pressing on his chest. Was Blake still here? He tried to move to see if the other man was still lay next to him. 

The pain that shot up from his hand made him cry out. An arc of agony that spread up his arm like spirals of fire. He gasped, eyes shooting open. 

A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned to blink, eyes clouded with tears, at the person lent over him. Blake?

“You have a fever,” a female voice said. Not Blake his addled mind told him. Why was there a woman in the trenches? There weren’t any…he squeezed his eyes shut, felt the hard spring of the mattress beneath him, smelt the different scents in the air. 

Hospital. 

He was in a hospital. 

God, he felt so hot. And cold. A tremor ran down is body as a chill rippled across his skin. 

“Can you drink something?” the voice came again. He swallowed and opened his eyes again. A familiar face hovered over him. He’d seen her before. She’d been here earlier? When…

Opening his mouth to answer he coughed, arms moving to support himself as he swayed and he felt the jagged bite of pain lance through his arm again. 

He managed to nod and felt a hand go behind his neck to support him whilst a glass was pressed gently to his lips. The pressure on the wound on the back of his head hurt but the moment the sweet cool liquid hit his mouth, all but that was forgotten. Too soon though it was pulled away and he was gently lowered back down to a prone position. 

“That’s better,” the nurse said, the clink of the glass hitting a surface distant in the background. A hand brushed across his forehead. He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of emotion that simple action caused; one so familiar and yet so far removed now. He blinked and allowed himself to relax back against the pillow behind him, exhaustion preventing him from doing anything else. 

Another tremor ran down his body and he felt the rustle and pressure of blankets being pulled up over him. The tremor made his arm shake and that ripple of agony flared again. 

“You need to leave your arm where it is,” she said softly. “We need to make sure that the wound is completely cleaned.”

“What is…” he managed to get out from between clenched teeth. He tried looking down to where his arm was laid carefully down the side of the bed. He could make out some sort of tubing and metal contraption around his hand.

“It’s to treat infection,” she said, adjusting the support around his arm. “The solution helps to kill any bacteria that may have got into the wound.”

He swallowed and laid his head back against the pillow and let out a short chuckle. “May have…I knew it,” he said softly. He brought up his other hand to wipe his palm over his forehead. 

“What happened?” she asked, curious. “What did you do to it?”

His mouth curved into a small smile. “What didn’t I do to it,” he said opening vivid blue eyes to gaze at her. Her eyebrows rose, encouraging him to continue. 

“We were sent to deliver an important message to another regiment,” he said, expression dropping into a more serious one. “I managed to hook it on some German barbed wire whilst we were going through no man’s land. Within five minutes of leaving the trench,” he said lips twisting in self-deprecation. 

“Their barbed wire is evil,” Ruth said with frown. “I’ve what damage that stuff can do, you’re lucky you didn’t lose your fingers.” 

“Then I managed to stick it in the stomach of a German corpse about a minute later,” he added and watched her face go from concerned to shocked, her eyebrows shooting even further north. A toothy grin emerged on his face. 

“Well,” she said after a moment. “That would definitely explain a lot.”

He nodded and leaned back, smiling tiredly. “Then I got blown up and buried under rubble.” He closed his eyes. “Then I fell into a river which was full of bloated corpses and had to pull myself through them.” He peaked an eye open. “Sorry. You’re a nurse though, so you’re probably used to the disgusting bits?” he said, voice fading. 

She nodded, expression see-sawing between bewilderment, horror and disbelief. “I am,” she agreed. 

Eyes still closed he murmured, “So, I’m not really surprised it’s got infected.”

“Neither am I,” she agreed slowly, glancing down at the poor hand in question. She frowned again. “You said ‘we’. You weren’t alone?”

She watched a change come over his expression; grief and regret. 

“There were two of us,” he said quietly. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. “He died.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice gentle. 

“I had to complete the mission,” he continued, eyes still closed. “I had to find the second Devons, find his brother…” he trailed off, body giving in to another tremor. “There was a whole regiment going into…they didn’t know it was a trap.” He opened his eyes; unseeing and desperate. “I had to find him.” He took in a shaky breath. “Just like me, a little older…” his voice trailed off but she got the impression that the last sentence were words repeated from another. 

“Did you make it in time?” she asked softly. 

A smile twitched on his lips. “I did,” he whispered. 

She watched as his head tilted to the side and he dropped into an uneasy sleep, muscles twitching in his neck and temple. Waiting for a few moments longer, she turned and then proceeded to finish her rounds. Once done, she whispered to the other nurse on duty and headed out down the hallway to the main stairs, intent in her step. 

She rounded onto the bottom floor and headed over to where Emma, the nurse she had spoken to before, was sat writing up her notes. 

“Emma,” she started and waiting until the other woman had put down her pen and looked up. “Do you remember I asked about the Lance Corporal you have on the ward?”

The other nurse nodded. “I do.” 

“How is he?” she asked.

Emma slid the cap on her pen and placed it carefully back next to the book she’d been adding notes to. “Stable,” she replied with a small smile. “It was touch and go for a while, given how much blood he’d lost but he’s a fighter and Doctor Williams is much happier with his condition tonight.”

“That’s good,” Ruth said with genuine feeling. She edged closer and sat down on the chair perpendicular to where Emma sat. “Do you know anything more about him?”

“You were curious about the man on your ward,” Emma stated, curiosity appearing on her own face. 

“I was. I am,” she said. “It struck me, and Gladys,” she added, “that it was strange that the Lance Corporal on my ward would come in almost the same time as one on your ward. Both from the same regiment but both coming in with other units, not each other?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Emma pointed out reasonably. “You know that regiments get separated, posted together and send out together. It can be very confused out there on the front lines. Wounded men can come in from all quarters, you should know that.” 

Ruth nodded. “I do,” she agreed. “It just struck me as a coincidence when Gladys mentioned it earlier. And then tonight, he started talking about the mission he was sent on.” She let out a sigh. “He’s running a fever from the infection in his hand. Doctor Sanderson has got him on a Carrel-Dakin but he was talking about how his hand got hurt and…” She let out another breath. “He spoke about there being another man with him. They were sent to deliver a message to another battalion but he mentioned that this other man died and…” she pulled a face at the other women, expression plainly detailing both her fervour and helplessness.

“You think this other man might be the gentleman we have on our ward,” Emma finished for her, head cocked to the side, a thoughtful look her face.

“I do,” Ruth said again. “At least, I think it might a possibility.” She shuffled closer. “He thinks his partner died, but if the wounds were serious enough, he might have thought that he’d died, when in fact he survived. I get the impression from what he said that it was time sensitive, so he may have had to leave before knowing if he lived or died.”

“How do we find out though?” Emma asked. “Do you know the other man’s name, the one who was with him?”

Ruth shook her head. “No, he didn’t mention any names, only that he had a brother in the second Devons.”

Emma frowned. “That’s not going to help much,” she said. 

“I know,” Ruth said, unhappily. “That’s why I wondered if you’d managed to find any more about where your man had come from?”

Emma shook her head. “No, but we do have his name so all you need to do is ask your man who he was with and see if they match up.” 

Ruth sighed again. “He’s asleep and his temperature is rising so I’m not sure how coherent he’s going to be. I almost asked when he was speaking earlier but I thought it might seem a bit odd. Although given how he was, he most likely wouldn’t have thought much of it, poor man.”

“Is he in a bad way?”

“He came in with a cut to his palm and a head wound. I think everyone, himself included, thought he was going to be here for a few hours, a day at the most, just to make sure any infection didn’t set in.”

“But it did?”

Ruth nodded. “Turns out the wound to his palm was deeper and dirtier than they’d thought.”

Both nurses sat in companionable silence for a few moments. 

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were together, if they were on the mission together and they both survived?” Emma said suddenly, her dark eyes shining. “If your man thought mine had perished and mine didn’t know if yours had made it through to deliver the message! How wonderful would it be for them to both find out that the other had actually made it!” Her hand flew to her chest. 

“Oh, Emma, what I wouldn’t give for such a happy ending in this place,” Ruth replied. She smiled and reached out a hand to grasp the other woman’s arm quickly. “What is the name of your gentleman?”

“Lance Corporal Thomas Blake,” Emma said. “What about yours?”

“Lance Corporal William Schofield.” They both smiled at each other. “Thank you,” Ruth said. “I’d better head back but if I hear anything more I’ll pop down and let you know. Will you do the same?”

“Of course,” Emma promised with a nod. 

The two women parted ways with another smile and headed back to their respective tasks. 

For the next two days the two women watched their respective wards whilst meeting up to exchange notes. Not that there was anything much to exchange since neither man had been conscious to be able to tell them anything more than they originally found out. It was frustrating and worrying. Ruth’s patient had been unconscious with a dangerously high fever for almost forty-eight hours straight and both she and the Doctor were concerned both about damage to his brain and whether the infection had spread to his blood system. 

Emma on the other hand, although her ward had been in the more dangerous condition when he’d been admitted, he’d actually made a biggest improvement and although he’d been asleep for much of the time due to extreme fatigue, a result of the blood loss, he was now doing very well. Emma was expecting him to wake properly at any time, but any bouts of consciousness so far had been fleeting and not very coherent. 

On the afternoon of the third day, Ruth heard the sound of hurried steps outside in the hallway and turned just in time to see Emma quickly step into the ward. Nodding quickly at Gladys who looked up from where she was checking inventory, she scurried over to where Ruth was making ones of the far beds. 

Ruth stood up and met her excited expression with a questioning one. 

“Lance Corporal Blake is awake,” Emma whispered, hand coming up to rest on Ruth’s forearm. 

Ruth’s eyes widened, her gaze immediately going over to the far bed where Will was lay. “Oh my gosh,” she said softly. She turned back to Emma. “Have you spoken with him?” 

Emma shook her head. “No, not yet. He’s been awake longer this morning though, so I think I could probably ask him soon. He seems stronger.”

Ruth bit her lip. “Could I come down there with you?”

“Of course,” Emma said.” That’s partly the reason I came up. To ask if you’d be there with me.”

Ruth nodded. “Yes,” she said, her gaze falling back over to Will. Emma followed, her own falling on the still figure. 

“Is that him?” she asked quietly. 

Ruth nodded again. 

“How is he?” Emma asked reading the worry on her friend’s face. 

“Fighting,” Ruth said. “His temperature broke this morning thank goodness. But he’s not woken up yet.” 

Emma took the few steps necessary to bring her near to his bed. She let out a soft sigh. “He looks so young. I know I should be used to it but every single one of them just remind me of school boys.”

“I know,” Ruth agreed. She rubbed her hands down her apron. “Right,” she said. “Let me make sure everything is in place and I’ll come down with you.”

Stepping into the other ward Ruth glanced around, taking in the other occupants of the room as they made their way to the bed on the far side near to the window. As soon as she got near enough her attention was solely on young man lay in the bed that Emma was now sat next to. A mop of unruly brown hair topped a round boyish face that was only slightly marred by the facial hair that had grown in whilst he’d been unconscious. She knew Emma would sort that as soon as everything else had been and when Blake requested it. 

“Lance Corporal Blake,” Emma started only to be cut off by the young man. 

“Tom, please,” he said with a tired but cheeky smile. “I told you this morning.”

“I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” Emma said with a warm smile.

“Couldn’t forget you, could I?”

Oh, he was a charmer, Ruth thought with a smile. With that cheeky smile and twinkling eyes, he’d had every girl between here and England wrapped around his little finger. 

Emma grinned back and Ruth could see the hint of colour rising up her neck and cheeks. 

“How are you feeling?” Emma asked.

Tom’s mouth twisted, the brightness in his eyes fading slightly. “Tired,” he said with feeling. “Like I’ve been trampled on by a tank.”

“You’re in pain?”

“Sore,” he replied. “Not so bad if I don’t move too much.”

Tom eyes flickered to where Ruth was stood slightly behind Emma’s shoulder.

Emma saw his gaze and turned and indicated Ruth who came forward a few more steps. “This is my friend Ruth.”

“Hi Ruth,” Tom said that warm smile turning towards her and she found herself immediately returning it.

“Hi Tom,” she said. 

“Ruth works on one of the wards downstairs,” Emma continued. She exchanged a quick look with Ruth. “We wanted to ask you something, if you’re up to it?”

Tom shrugged gently, an aborted horizontal movement that involved no movement below his shoulders, in deference to his still healing stomach wound. “Certainly,” he replied. “Not sure what I can help you with as I’ve been in here for…” he tailed off with a frown. “How long have I been here?”

“Five days,” Emma responded. 

“Blimey.” His eyebrows rose and then he started. “Is it about my brother?” he asked suddenly.

Ruth exchanged another look with Emma, one that didn’t go unnoticed. 

“It is isn’t it?” Tom was looking worried now. His eyes bounced from one nurse to the other. “He’s not….? Is he here? Joe Blake, Lieutenant Joseph Blake? Is he….? Did Sco stop them? Did he get there in time?”

The questions poured out of his mouth, more urgent and worried with each one. Emma and Ruth both came forward quickly. Emma sat on the chair whilst Ruth crouched next to the bed, both reaching out to place a calming hand on his shoulder and arm respectively to prevent him from moving.

“Tom, shush,” Emma said hurriedly. “Don’t move, or you’ll pull your stitches. It’s not about your brother, he’s not here. At least it’s not a name I’m familiar with but I can check with the administration downstairs if you wish.”

“Please,” Tom’s voice was pleading. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, I’ll do that on my way back downstairs,” Ruth promised reaching out to grasp his hand. 

“Thank you.” His brown eyes shone back at them and he reached up a hand to rub quickly at the corner of his eyelid. “I’d appreciate that.” He took a breath. “Joe is a Lieutenant in the Devons. He was due to be involved in an advancement a few days ago. But it was a trap and they didn’t know it.” 

Emma darted a quick glance at Ruth. “Tom, do you know a William Schofield?” she asked tentatively and both of them watched as the man’s head shot up instantly. 

“Sco?” He sucked in a quick breath. “He…yes, I was with him when I was stabbed. He went on to find the Devons.” His gaze moved between the two of them. “Is he….?” He swallowed. “Is he here?”

Ruth nodded. “Yes, he’s downstairs on my ward,” she said and watched his eyes pin her. 

“On your ward? How…is he hurt? What happened?” He shifted restlessly again. 

“He’s alive,” she started with, keen to allay that fear before it got any traction. “He came in because of a wound on his hand and his head.”

“His head? I know he cut his hand, but he washed that out. He hurt his head?”

Ruth nodded. “Yes, he got shot at and fell down some stairs apparently.”

Tom scoffed. “Clumsy bugger,” he said, forcing a smile, though there was fear still in his eyes. 

“But it is his hand that’s causing trouble,” she continued. “Although he managed to wash it out, due to the depth of the wound, bacteria had managed to get quite deep and unfortunately he developed an infection and fever.”

The look of horror on the other man’s face pulled at the strings in her heart. “A fever.” He glanced at Emma. “That can be serious if it’s from an infection can’t it?” 

Both women nodded. “It can be,” Ruth continued. “He was in a bad way for a couple of days but we think, we hope, he’s passed the worst of it.” 

Tom’s eyes closed in obvious relief. “So, he’s getting better?”

Ruth hesitated. “He’s not out of the woods yet but his fever broke this morning. Now we just need to wait until he awakes.” She paused again. “So, he *was* with you?” Ruth asked gently. 

Tom nodded. “Yeah, I…we, were tasked with taking a message to the second Devons, to stop them going over into battle.” He settled back into the pillows; eyes downcast focusing on his hands twisting in the blankets. “I was asked to choose a man and to see our commander. I choose Sco…Lance Corporal Schofield. I thought it was going to be some easy mission like, go pick up supplies, ya know? It turned out that sixteen hundred men were relying on us to get a message through to their commander. Including my brother.” He took in a breath and glanced up. “Do you know if he got the message through?” 

“Yes,” Ruth said with a smile. “He said that he did.” 

Tom’s eyes shut briefly, face relaxing into a relieved expression. “Thank you, Will,” he said softly.

“Lance Corporal Schofield came in with a number of men from the Devons,” she continued. “I will endeavour to check and to check on your brother if I can. There may be someone I can verify events with.”

“I would appreciate that,” Tom said gratefully. 

Ruth exchanged another glance with Emma. “Lance Corporal Schofield, when he was talking, before the fever took hold, he mentioned that you had been injured.” 

“Yeah, last time I try to be friendly and helpful,” he said with a twist of his lips. 

“He had to leave you?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I was bleeding too much and I couldn’t travel. I told him to leave me and to carry on. Time was ticking on and I needed to get that message through. My brother was relying on it…”

“He thinks you’re dead,” she blurted out. 

Tom’s head shot up, eyes meeting hers. “What?” he whispered.

“He thinks you died.”

“Oh,” he breathed out eyes going distance for a moment before he looked up again. “I was bleeding quite a lot see.”

“He assumed the worse,” Ruth concluded. She let out a breath then, a smile broadening her face. “I’m so happy that we can tell him otherwise. I’m so happy that you both made it.” She blushed suddenly and ducked her face. She drew in a breath. “When one of the other nurses told me that another man from the same regiment as Lance Corporal Schofield had come in, but that there were none other than you two, I well, I got curious,” she admitted. “Then when I heard Lance Corporal Schofield’s story about another man which he had been travelling with… I…well, I thought there might be a chance that you could be linked.”

“Good detective work,” Tom grinned, then settled back into the pillows, exhaustion suddenly coming over him. “Thank you for telling me Sco is here,” he said quietly. “Is there any way to see him?” he asked hopefully. 

Emma shook her head. “You can’t move yet I’m afraid. You need to rest and let the wound heal before you start moving around.”

Ruth was also shaking her head in the negative. “Will won’t be up to moving either when he wakes. He’s going to be very weak from the infection and fever.”

Tom’s face fell. “Can you let me know how he is?” he asked, “when he does wake?”

“Of course,” Ruth smiled. “As soon as there’s any change I’ll pop down or send word to Emma,” she promised. 

Tom sank back into his blankets once the two women had left. Feeling both elated, satisfied, happy but also worried, out of sorts and sad at the same time. Also sore, he decided, shifting slightly to ease the gnawing pain in his middle. He’d not really been conscious enough to spend much time thinking about his brother or Will or the mission to get that damned message through but now he was awake and his brain was back in operating capacity he couldn’t stop thinking about any of them. 

Joe. Something in his heart told him that his brother was okay. If Will had got through then there was a good chance Joe was fine. He had to think that. Anything else and he’d be out of this bed and hunting down the nearest commanding officer for answers and none of that would actually achieve anything. Other than land him in more pain and injury and probably insubordination. No, the nurse had said she would try and find out and he had to be patient and wait. 

That left Schofield. 

God, where did he start? He’d been close to the slightly older man ever since he’d joined the regiment at the beginning of the year. Tom himself was a friendly, chatty, enthusiastic person if he said so himself. It was what people had always said about him and he’d never had problems making friends or talking with other people. He was a people person. 

But Schofield had been a hard nut to crack. Immediately, he’d sensed that there was a reticence about the older man, a part of himself that he held back from people. He was friendly and polite, a good leader and soldier but there always seemed to be a wall that was present around him. Blake had been determined to break through that wall, drawn to the older man right from the moment he’d met him. Something about the calm, strong, careful nature of the tall lean man intrigued him. Attracted him…

Well. 

Yes.

Blake glanced around the ward, as if his thoughts were audible in the small room. This was something about himself that he’d come to terms with years before, something that he accepted even if society did not. And he knew society did not. 

The physical attraction to Schofield had been there from the minute he’d laid eyes on the older man. He’d had to temper his reaction, pray to god the red blush on his cheeks could be put down to the chill of the January air and not the flush that he’d felt when those blue eyes had met his. Tall, lean, strong, with a voice that he could have quite happily listened to for hours. Then when he got to know him more, when he’d managed to break down some of those walls, he’d been attracted to the man himself. Strong, passionate when you dug deep enough and quite simply one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet. Even if he was a grumpy sod most of the time, he found himself grinning. 

He’d never said anything to Will, never indicated his feelings went anything beyond that of a friend and fellow soldier. Not wanting to risk what he had for something he knew he’d never get. Will may have been a first-class person in Blake’s eyes but there was no way to guarantee how he would react and Tom would prefer to have Will in his life as a friend than risk losing both him and more. 

God, he was so relieved to hear Will was alive, but the thought that he’d been through all that the nurses had said he had made something in his chest hurt. The urge to get up and go find him was almost as urgent as the one to go find out about his brother. He hated sitting somewhere being unable to do anything. As a child, he’d always been the fidgety one, the one unable to sit still, the one always on the go whether it be climbing a tree or scaling a wall. Being inactive just wasn’t in his nature. 

He wanted to see Will in person, needed to see his face, see his chest rise and fall, hold his hand and feel that strength and warmth beneath his fingers. He took in a deep breath. When Will had been buried under that rubble in the German trenches, his heart had been in his mouth but straight afterwards he’d not thought about it, so intent he was on getting to Joe. Will had been fine. Covered in dust and properly annoyed but no lasting damage. Or so he’d thought. He’d not even given much thought to his hand when he’d caught it on that wire. Which he should have, everyone knew that even the slightest cut or abrasion could turn bad if not treated, but he’d assumed that Will would be able to get in treated in a matter of hours once they got to the Devons. Stupid idiot obviously hadn’t. Unless that was because of the head injury. The nurse said he’d been shot at but not that he’d actually been shot. Had he been knocked out?

So many questions were rolling around his head, knocking the one in front of it out of the way in a hamster wheel of continuous worry. 

He forced himself to relax into the bed and to close his eyes. The sooner he got better then sooner he could see Will. 

“William?” 

Will could hear a soft voice calling him, but he couldn’t tell who it was. Was it his mother? It was a woman’s voice. No, it wasn’t mother, or his aunt either and too low pitched to be either of his nieces. The heat that had surrounded him had finally faded. He was still warm, still wanted to push off the blankets that were covering him but it had lost that intensity, the feeling that it was boiling him alive. Why was he wrapped up so much in this summer heat anyway? 

“William?” 

He moved his head and tried to open his eyes. It was hard. Harder than it should be. God, why did it feel as though ten-ton weights were attached to his eyelids? 

The world was blurry at first. Shapes rather than things or people. That was a person, the shadow that was hovering over him was definitely person shaped. He blinked, attempting to bring them onto focus. It took a few attempts but at last he could see a woman’s face. Smiling. 

Opening his mouth, he was embarrassed to find that all that came out was a harsh croak. Which hurt. 

“Here,” the woman’s voice came and a glass came into view. Carefully and with a supportive hand helping lift the back of his neck he managed to take in a few sips of water. Gorgeous, cold, thirst quenching water. He swallowed desperately, making an anxious noise when it was taken away.

“Not too much, too quickly,” the voice admonished. “You’ll make yourself sick.” 

The glass came back for another couple of sips and in any other situation he would have been embarrassed by the grateful noises that came out of him. Eventually the glass disappeared for good and he lay back and closed his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He opened his eyes again, this time an easier task and focused on the woman, stood by his bed. Without moving his head he glanced around, taking in his surroundings, brain chugging through his memories sluggishly and slowly putting together where he was. 

Hospital. In France, not England. He’d come back from the front with the Devons. The message, Joe Blake…

Tom.

He closed his eyes as grief washed over him again. “Tired,” he eventually rasped out, then after a moment. “My hand hurts.”

There was movement down on said limb and he felt his arm lifted. He winced at the ache. 

“It’s looking much better,” the nurse said. “You had us worried there for a while.” She must have noticed his frown because she carried on. “You’ve had a fever. Your hand was infected.”

“Oh,” he said softly, frown still marring his face. He looked up. “How long have I been here?”

She looked up from where she was unwrapping his hand. “This is the fifth day you’ve been with us. But you’ve been mostly unconscious for most of the last four.” She smiled warmly at him. “We’re very pleased you’re back with us.”

Ruth hesitated, debating in her hand whether this was the right time to say what she really wanted to say. The man had only just awoken but he looked so sad. She finished with his bandage and stood up. Making a motion to walk away she hesitated and turned back. 

“You might not remember,” she started, “but after you’d come in, when the fever was starting to take hold, you spoke about how your hand got hurt.”

He blinked again, a little crease appearing between his eyes. “I…think I do,” he said carefully. “I told you about the corpses.” His eyes shot open at that. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he stared, embarrassment flooding his pale features. “That was…awful of me.”

She chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that,” she said. “You were right in that as a nurse I’ve seen and spoken about a lot worse. It was useful, we hadn’t realised quite what you’d put your poor hand through until then.”

He grimaced. 

“But,” she continued, her expression going serious. “You also spoke about the soldier, the one you were travelling with?”

Will wet his lips. “I did,” he said quietly. 

“You spoke about how you thought he’d died.”

“He did,” Will said, pain shooting across his face unhindered given how low his tolerance was right then.

“His name was Lance Corporal Thomas Blake?”

Will nodded without looking, then flinched, glancing up. “I didn’t tell you his name,” he said, confusion starting to colour his voice. 

“He didn’t die,” she said gently.

Blue eyes widened and locked onto her face. For a moment he didn’t say anything, emotions warring across his face; shock, disbelief, suspicion…hope. He swallowed visibly. “What…?” he eventually managed to breath out. 

“He’s down on one of our other wards. My friend Emma, is looking after him.”

“I saw…” he said, voice catching. “I saw him bleed…” He started to suck in heavier breaths. 

Ruth immediately sat down and leaned over to grasp his right hand. “Careful,” she crooned, seeing panic starting to set in. “Breath steadily.” 

“He was bleeding…bleeding too much…” he insisted, eyes wide, voice insistent. 

“They found him,” Ruth interrupted. “Medics from the tenth were passing through. They saw the smoke from the plane and found him. They took him straight here.”

“There was no one there…” Will argued looking distraught. “I didn’t want to leave him but he pushed me away, told me to find his brother…I didn’t want to leave him.” Tears were shining in his eyes and his hand gripped hers in a desperate hold. “He’s alive?” 

“Yes,” she said, smiling spreading, her own tears starting. “He was in a bad way when they brought him in, he’d lost a lot of blood. They didn’t know whether he would make it but he’s strong. Like you, he’s been asleep for a good number of days. The blood loss and the surgery took a lot out of him, but he’s on the mend. He’s going to be fine.”

He stared at her and then took a shaky breath in and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh…” he breathed out, barely more than a whisper and then to her horror, he started to cry. Silent but heartfelt sobs shook his body as his expression crumpled. His good hand pulled out of hers and shot up to cover his face, in an attempt to hide his pain. 

She raised her one of her hands to rest on top of his head, thumb gently stroking along his forehead. “Oh, my boy,” she mouthed, heartache coursing through her own body as she quietly soothed him. 

When he’d quietened, not that he’d made much noise, but when the tears stopped and his head pulled away from her touch, face turning away to wipe his eyes and cheeks and to compose himself, he cleared his throat. She stepped back to give him his space. 

“Could I…would I be able to see him?” he asked, twisting around to look at her, patches of red still flushing his cheeks. 

He looked so hopeful she hated having to deny him. “Lance Corporal Blake can’t be moved right now and I’m afraid you’re not getting out of that bed, at least not for a while. Not until you get your strength back.” She held up a hand at the interruption she could see coming. “You get out of that bed right now and you’ll fall flat on your face, young man.” She raised her eyebrows.

He sucked back in the obvious denial he was going to make. Wetting his lips, he paused and then, “Could I send him a note?”

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll get you some paper and a pen.” Turning away she headed for the administration desk by the door and after making sure there was ink in the pen that she picked up she brought it back along with a notebook and a clipboard for him to lean against. “Here you go. I’ll be back later with some food and I’ll drop it down to Emma to pass along to your boy.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she turned around in embarrassment, eyes widening before moving quickly away. Why she’d phrased it that way she wasn’t sure why but she couldn’t take it back now. Although she was pretty sure he was older than Emma’s patient it was an odd turn of phrase to use. However, the flush of red that crept up his neck as she walked away fascinated her. 

Will felt the blush steal up his neck and ducked his head uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure what it was about the phrase the nurse had used but something about what she had said made his chest flutter and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Pushing himself more upright, he twisted to a position where he could write, not comfortably or perhaps completely legibly but enough to make the right marks on the paper she’d given him. 

He’d placed the nib of the pen to the surface of the paper before he stopped, suddenly unsure about what he wanted to say. What could he say?

Dear Tom,

He swallowed, teeth biting his bottom lip as his mind swirled around all of the possible ways he could start, dismissing each and every one before starting the process all over again. 

The nurse has told me that you are also in the hospital here. This makes me so very happy.

He frowned, allowing himself to mentally acknowledge the massive understatement in that sentence. 

I managed to get to the Devons, the nurse may have passed this information on, but I wanted to let you know that I saw your brother. He was okay. I had not managed to get there in time to stop them before some men had gone over. He had been in that first wave of the attack but was fine and looking after his men. That I didn’t manage to get there before those first men went over will haunt me and I’m sorry that I didn’t manage to get there in time to stop your brother being among them. When I saw Joe, I…

The pen stuttered on the paper and stopped again as he suddenly remembered that when he had left the Devons, Joe Blake had been under the assumption that his brother was dead. Will eyes shot up into the room but the nurse wasn’t there. He would ask for another sheet of paper so he could try and get word to Tom’s brother. He didn’t want the other man to grieve unnecessarily for any longer than he had to. 

…thought you were dead, so Joe does too. I’m so very sorry. I will endeavour to get word to him that you are here. 

I am sorry too, for leaving you. I know you told me to but every fibre in my body was battling that decision. That you were found and that you are here, alive, you will never know how grateful I am. Please get well, don’t do anything stupid. Rest and convalesce well, please.

W Schofield.

He placed the pen carefully on the top of the bed covers and folded the paper in half. Picking up the pen again he carefully wrote Tom’s name on the front. Settling back into bed he closed his eyes and waited. 

When Emma came over that evening, she put Tom’s food tray on the side. He grimaced, knowing that he would have to be helped to eat still, as he was unable yet to sit up very well. Being helped to eat made him feel like a child, but he would put up with it if it made him heal faster. When she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, he forgot all about the embarrassment and focused in on that. 

She raised eyebrows at him. “This is a letter from Lance Corporal Schofield,” she said, “but you will get this after you’ve had some food and managed to eat enough to make the Doctor happy.” She watched him, his eyes glued to the paper she held aloft and the almost immediate acquiescence. She smiled and placed it back in her pocket for safe keeping. 

Ten minutes later and she tidied away the plate and cutlery and reaching into her pocket passed him the letter. 

“If you want me to take anything back just let me know,” she said with a smile. 

Tom took the letter, trying to conceal his eagerness but aware that he probably wasn’t doing a very good job. “Thank you,” he said, already unfolding the paper. 

Eyes quickly scanning the letter, he found himself letting out a breath of relief at the mention of his brother. A part of himself that he’d kept rigid was now able to relax. He grimaced at Joe thinking he’d died, but he didn’t blame Will, there was no way for him to know and given his condition when they last saw each other, he had also been of the opinion he was able to die himself. The fact that he was still breathing, lying here in this hospital bed, still felt like some bizarre after life hallucination. 

He then read the last paragraph and his face softened even further. Looking up he caught Emma’s eye and gestured for a pen and paper. 

Will was resting when Ruth came back to his bed. He turned over and smiled in greeting. He’d realised with some embarrassment earlier that despite how long he’d been there, he hadn’t actually known her name. So, after dinner he had with some amount of self-consciousness, belated introduced himself. She’d laughed and shook his hand. 

“Don’t worry,” she’d laughed. “I take no offense.”

After a short conversation where they’d exchanged basic ‘where are you from’ information, he knew that she originated from the south of England, had two older sisters and had been working in France since late 1916. She loved her work, even though it distressed her. She wanted, needed to help and she was where she needed to be. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked, refreshing the water jug next to his bed. 

“Okay,” he said, with a soft smile. “Better than I was.”

“Good to hear,” she said. “Your temperature is down and your hand looks good.” She raised her eyebrows. “Which we really were worried about,” she confided. 

“Thank you for your care,” he said softly. 

They smiled at each other for a moment before Will shifted slightly. “Do you…?”

She stepped forward, hand reaching into her pocket. “Here you are,” she said, grinning at the way his eyes immediately locked onto the piece of paper in her hand. She held it out and watched as he reached out with his right hand almost tentatively before taking it from her. “Thank you,” he said almost distractedly, eyes already scanning the letter. She smiled and walked away to give him some peace. 

Will absorbed Blake’s words eagerly. He could almost hear Blake’s voice as he read his message. He opened with the same gratefulness on Will’s health as he had expressed on Blake’s. Annoyed that Will had got himself so banged up that he’d needed to be admitted to the hospital but pleased that he was now getting better. 

Thank you for letting me know about Joe. And please do not worry about what you said to him. I myself am amazed I’m still here, breathing in God’s fresh air, so it wasn’t an unexpected conclusion to come to! Joe will be fine once he finds out he still has a little brother. Especially when I tell him how much of it was down to you. 

Will closed his eyes and turned away, feeling an almost physical stab of pain in his chest. In no way was he responsible for Tom surviving. He had left Tom; left him to die, left him to bleed out in the grounds of that farmhouse, the place that will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. How Tom could even think that he had anything to do with him surviving. He felt the nausea rising in his throat and battled to keep it down. 

Thank you for getting there. I know it was orders, but thank you. The fact you got yourself shot at (several times?!?!) - Will grinned at the excessive use of punctuation - almost drowned and then nearly loosing your hand, tells me that you fought hard to get there and there is no satisfying way that I can ever repay you for that. You had to leave. Please don’t think that there was any choice there, there wasn’t. You didn’t abandon me.

Will had to stop again, emotions warring in his mind. His hand was shaking and he lowered it to rest on top of the blankets. 

I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Emma and Ruth told me they would give you my letters whilst we’re both bed- bound but I can’t wait to see you in the flesh. Write me back? I’m bored lying here in this bed. I can’t sit up let alone get up and the ceiling is getting very old now. 

T Blake.

Will felt a lone tear run down his cheek and he hastened to wipe it away. He carefully folded the paper and tucked it under the blanket that covered his chest, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

Over the next couple of days, Ruth and Emma, as they promised, took letters between the two boys. The second day had seen a total of three letters each and by the time the third one had been held out to Emma at dinner time she had given a glare, a sigh and then a fond roll of the eyes before plucking it from Tom’s fingers. He had given her his best grin, the one that always worked on his Mum when he was angling for an extra piece of her fruit cake. It had a one hundred percent success rate.

Most of their communication was simple stuff, just to keep each other amused, particularly on Tom’s behalf who was beyond bored. Of course, when Will had innocently let slip the method he’d used to get to Colonel MacKenzie once he’d found the Devons, Tom had nearly had a fit. Written though it was. 

You did what?!?!?!? I can’t believe it! What an idiot! You could have been blown up, trampled, shot! Not that I’m not grateful, I am, BUT YOU RAN ON THE TOP OF AN ACTIVE TRENCH????

Will did have the grace to blush somewhat before quickly changing the subject to something else.

The third day brought the news that Will had been both expecting and dreading. He had been medically cleared and deemed fit to return to the eighth. He felt better, his hand was sore still but functional and his fever was long gone. 

He caught sight of Ruth hovering in the background, near enough to hear but far enough away not to be obvious. Her expression was carefully neutral. 

“You’ve done well,” Sanderson said. “We were quite worried for a while there, but you’ve recovered very well. Your hand is healing now that the infection has been eradicated and I see no reason to keep you hear any longer. The transport Sergeant will be around shortly with your orders but you’ll be discharged from the hospital officially in the morning and send back to your regiment.” 

Will nodded. “Thank you.”

Ruth came over once he’d left the room. She pursed her lips. “Put your trousers on,” she said and watched as he hesitated for no more than a second before reaching out to hastily grab them from where his freshly washed uniform had been placed earlier the previous day. He struggled for a moment; his left hand unused to movement and standing from the bed made him wobble slightly after being lay down for so long. But after a moment to let the blood rush clear from his head, he made sure everything was fastened and followed Ruth as quickly as his feet would allow him. 

Walking into yellow ward was terrifying. Will couldn’t help but look around at the other men who were there. Ruth had quietly warned him on the way down the stairs, that there were patients here who were in quite poor shape but the sight of so many missing limbs made him unconsciously rub fingers around the wrist of his left hand, a pray of thanks silently recited in his head. 

Emma had spotted them coming in and quickly and quietly waved them over to the far side of the room. As they neared Will’s attention immediately fell to the bed she had moved towards and at the first sight of that familiar brown hair and round face, he felt something inside of him loosen with an almost physical jolt. 

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Tom had turned his head. Will watched as his eyes widened, a smile almost immediately lighting his whole face. 

“Sco!”

Will bit his lip and strode forward the last few feet, dropping down to his knees next to the bed. Without thought for who was around them or who was watching, he leaned his arms on the bed and grabbing Tom’s hand, pressed his forehead down to the other man’s wrist. It was only by luck that he was able to swallow down the sob that closed his throat. 

He heard the intake of air from Tom, heard a soft swooshing sound from behind him but all that he could concentrate on was the warmth under his touch, the blood and muscle, alive, blood beating, thumping. He twisted his fingers until he could feel the comforting feel of the pulse on the underside of Tom’s wrist. 

There was a light pressure on the top of his head but he couldn’t sit up, couldn’t let go. Not just yet.

Ruth and Emma had exchanged a quick look before Emma had quickly retrieved one of the privacy screens leant against the wall and set it up around Tom’s bed to shield the two men from the rest of the ward. Retreating to a spot nearer towards the doorway they looked at the screen, then each other a silent communication and agreement passing between them. 

Tom ran his hand gently over Will’s hair, indulging in the softness under his fingers. He let out a silent breath of contentment. 

“Hey there,” he tried after a while. He felt Will tense slightly, a tremor run through the tight but comforting grip that encircled his arm. “You alright?” he asked softly.

Will raised his head at last and Tom was both regretful and grateful. Regret at loosing that wonderful connection but gratefulness at being able to see that face again. He ran greedy eyes over every inch of those beautiful features before resting on those blue eyes which were boring into his. 

“I am now,” Will said softly. His lips twisting into a small smile. “Writing is great, and your handwriting is so unique it can’t be forged,” he added with a quick smirk, which almost immediately faded into a serious expression. “but I don’t think my heart believed it until I saw you.” He smiled again, embarrassment flooding his expression as heat rose in his cheeks. 

Tom grinned and twitched his arm so that he could twist it around and reach Will’s own hand. Threading their fingers together he gazed up at the older man. 

“We both made it,” he said softly. His gaze dropped and a frown appeared between his eyes. “Let me see?”

Will moved his left hand and turned it over. The bandage however covered the healing wound so there wasn’t much to see. Tom however, just ran his fingers over the white material, touch soft. 

“To think I joked about it,” he said. 

Will shook his head. “You didn’t know. I didn’t know.” He turned his hand back over and caught Tom’s fingers. “It’s all healed now. And so am I. Just need you to heal now as well.” His own eyes dropped to Tom’s abdomen, hidden under the blankets covering him. 

Tom followed his gaze grinned. “I’m good. They stitched me up proper. Emma says I’ll have a pretty good scar. Something to show off right?” He waggled his eyebrows and Will couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. 

“I’m sure the girls will be most impressed,” he agreed with a smile, eyes dropping to where their hands were still wrapped around each other and missing the way Tom’s expression fell slightly. 

“Yeah,” Tom said softly. “They will.” 

They stayed in silence for a while, neither feeling the need to talk, just absorbing the presence of the other. Eventually though, Will cleared his throat. He took a breath in ready to speak, but Tom beat him to it. 

“You’re leaving, right?” he said quickly. “They’re sending you back?”

Will met his eyes and nodded. “In the morning. Back to the eighth.”

Tom looked away, throat working. Turning back, he nodded, eyes boring into where they were clutching at each other. “I don’t think I’ll be back for a while,” he said, voice aiming for lightness but missing by miles. 

Will squeezed his hand. “No. You won’t.”

Tom’s jaw worked as he struggled with what he wanted to say, what he was afraid to say. After a moment he raised his eyes only to drop them away again almost immediately. “Promise me you won’t go running on the top of any more trenches?” he said eventually, lips wobbling into a facsimile of a smile. “Or fighting with any more barbed wire?” His voice trailed off, smile fading quickly. 

“I promise,” Will said softly, solemnly. “Promise me you won’t try to rush to get better? Try to do too much too soon?”

Tom’s lips quirked back up into a quick smile. “I promise.” He raised his eyes again and this time when they locked gaze neither could look away. “Please look after yourself,” Tom pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. 

Will smiled. “I will,” he repeated. He lifted a hand and rested it against the side of Tom’s face, watching the other man’s eyes close in reaction. It was only a second later when he twitched and made to remove it. Tom’s own hand came up quickly to catch it before it retreated too far. Will had twisted around to look behind him, eyes wide and slightly panicking. 

Tom grinned when he saw the moment Will noticed the screen that wrapped around them. “Emma and Ruth,” he replied when Will turned back, surprise clear on his handsome face. “We owe them a lot.” 

Will’s eyebrows rose slightly in agreement before he dropped his head. Taking in a short breath he looked up and moved his hand, still clutched in Tom’s, slowly back up to where it had been on the other man’s face. It was a tentative movement but the firm grip Tom had on him reassured him that it was a welcome one. Once his hand was back in place, he felt Tom push into the touch and he took in a sharp shuddery breath. “Tom,” he whispered. 

Tom sucked in his own quick breath and then, with his eyes locked on Will, moved his head so that his mouth slid over the other man’s palm, pressing his mouth to the warm skin. He felt the shudder, heard to the quick intake of breath. Holding the hand in place he took in deep breaths, committing the smell and feel of the other man to his memory. 

When the hand was wrenched from his grip he startled, eyes shooting open in shock, only to see Will shuffle forward and with a combination of both infinite care and desperation, launch himself into the hollow of Tom’s neck. Tom’s nearest arm immediately came up to hook around the back of his neck, hand gripping him by the nape as the other man buried himself tight against the skin under his ear. His other hand slowly rested against and then gripped Will’s shoulder, fingers clutching into the fabric of his undershirt. He could feel the subtle tremors running through that strong body, could feel the uneven puffs of air against the skin of his neck where his nose was pressed. He almost missed the faint press of lips, his mind catching up a moment or two later with an unconscious tightening of his grip on Will’s shoulder. Will pulled back then, sitting up and refusing to meet Tom’s eyes. 

“Will?” Tom breathed. 

Blue eyes looked up and Tom almost gasped at the look in them. They stared at each other for a long time before the sounds of the ward started to filter into their private space. 

Tom saw Will’s throat work as he struggled with something. Tom was about to say something when eventually Will swayed forward. Tom wasn’t prepared for the movement, so when that hand returned to the side of his face and then lips pressed against his mouth for a short, oh so short a moment, he was taken by complete surprise. Will pulled back almost immediately and with a caress to his cheek as he moved away, whispered three words that dug their way straight into Tom’s heart. 

When Tom opened his eyes, not aware that he’d closed them, he was already on his own. 

Unbidden the sobs rose in his throat and he had to choke them down, the harsh tremors shaking his whole body.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so that was a horrible place to end it but I have an idea for the next instalment. Given my history I won't promise when these will be but the plot bunnies accosted me a few days ago so I have a vague idea of what happens next. 
> 
> Sorry.


End file.
